The Boy Who The Set Fire and Other Stories (19 page)

The woman laughed, and El Rifi jumped up and went down to the beach and changed into his bathing-suit. Then he began to do handsprings and acrobatics on the sand. When he climbed back up to the café, the woman was still outside on the bench. She looked at him and said: Lots of muscles, no?

El Rifi was drying himself with a bath towel. If you treat yourself well, you’ll be healthy, he said. And if you don’t, you’ll get sick. And every time you say something against somebody else, you’re not treating yourself well.

What are you trying to say?

I’m trying to tell you you should keep your mouth shut, El Rifi told her. Don’t talk about me.

And what does that mean? she demanded.

It means I’ll knock you down. Here in Morocco we don’t pretend to have respect for women the way they do in America. It’s not like New York. We keep women in their place.

The Englishman arrived then and went into the café to pay the qahouaji. When he came out he and the woman got into the car. Her face was angry. El Rifi slammed the door and began to drive them up the trail to the highway.

After that the woman would buy food and take it to the Englishman’s house. She would get up in the morning, go to the market, and buy a few grams of meat and four potatoes and a small head of lettuce, and put it all into a plastic bag, and leave it on the table in her apartment until the middle of the afternoon. When she arrived she would say: I’ve bought the food for dinner. I’m going to be the cook tonight. El Rifi was pleased, because he knew the meal was going to be bad. He told the Englishman: Now you’ll see what bad food is.

But what can I do?

El Rifi laughed. It’s none of my business.

She would cook the food and give it to the Englishman, and he would eat it because he was hungry. Since she had never before tried to cook, she would open a book of rules and put it in front of her, and try to follow it. But she had to keep running to the book.

She bought every sort of herb and seed they sell in the market, and many were of the kind that are not supposed to be used with food. But she would put a little of everything in and stir it. The Englishman did not enjoy eating these meals. Half the time she bought fish, which he did not like. And besides, the fish she bought was always several days old. Before she began to use the kitchen El Rifi, who often went fishing, would bring back fish that he had just caught and cook it. But when he saw that she came every night, he stopped cooking altogether.

Each night after dinner the woman began to complain about her life. She would get drunk and quarrel with El Rifi. One night she accused him of gossiping about her with other Nazarenes.

I’d never do that, he told her. It’s shameful. If I have something to say about someone I say it to his face. The day I want to gossip about you I’ll come and kill you with my two hands.

She called him a name in English, and jumped up and ran out of the house. A few minutes later El Rifi, who had been growing more nervous each instant, ran out too, and drove down the road looking for her. He pulled up beside her as she was going along under the trees, leapt out and seized her arm. When she tried to jerk away, he felt like hitting her, but he merely held on to her more firmly.

You’re a pile of garbage, he said. There’s plenty of filth around, so you won’t be lonesome. You weren’t able to manage on the street in New York any longer, so you came to try it here. But you won’t have anymore success here than you had there. Maybe you’ll find a dog once in a while.

The woman from New York was crying now, and walking faster, trying to get away from him. It’s true, said El Rifi. You bring those long-haired Nazarenes into your apartment. Every day different ones. They sit and drink wine and smoke kif and hashish, and the smell that comes out of them can give you a headache for a week.

She tried to run. There was no one in the road. He shook her arm. Listen to me when I talk to you! And the Moroccans you find in the street and take back to your apartment! Why do you always pick the dirtiest ones?

He let go of her and went back to the car. When he got to the house, the Englishman wanted to hear exactly what he had said to her.

The woman from New York continued to go every day to see the Englishman. If El Rifi came in and found her there, he would bring his tape-recorder and microphone and begin immediately to speak into it, sitting on the rug in the middle of the salon. This made her very nervous. How can he go on talking like that, night after night? Doesn’t he ever get tired? What does he think of to say?

The Englishman would laugh. He says Allah helps him, he told her.

I’m trying to write a book, she said. And I get ten words written every month.

But Allah’s not helping you, said the Englishman.

One day she invited an American from Marrakech to the Englishman’s house for dinner. She had bought a fish that was spoiled. When she put it on to cook a terrible smell filled the house. But she left it in the oven and served it to them. The next day the Englishman had cramps in his belly, and went to see a doctor.

You’ve eaten some food that’s poisoned you, the doctor told him.

When El Rifi saw that the Englishman still felt sick after several days, he went into the kitchen and gathered up all the leaves and stalks and seeds that the woman from New York had bought, and put them into the garbage pail.

Don’t go into the kitchen anymore, he told her when she came to see how the Englishman felt. I’m doing the cooking again now. If I come in and find you cooking, I’m going to put you and the food both into the garbage pail.

The woman from New York stopped trying to cook for the Englishman. She meant to come when El Rifi was not there, but since she never knew when he would appear, she often found him sitting there when she arrived. One evening she came looking drunk and he let her in. She walked into the salon and said to the Englishman: How many years do you get for murder in Morocco?

The Englishman did not know. El Rifi came into the room. I can tell you, he said. If a Moroccan kills a foreigner he gets four years. And if a foreigner kills a Moroccan, he gets twenty years. Are you thinking about killing me? If you are, you’d better do it soon, or you’ll be dead before you get out of jail.

She paid no attention. Look at this, she said to the Englishman, showing him a piece of paper. The police say I have to leave Morocco in seven days. What right have they got? Who did this to me?

I don’t understand, said the Englishman, reading the piece of paper.

El Rifi went out. When she heard his car going up the road, the woman from New York said: He did it, of course.

Oh, I don’t think so, said the Englishman.

The woman had to pack her things and leave. The night after she had gone, El Rifi was sitting in the salon with the Englishman.

I wonder who went to the police about her, said the Englishman.

El Rifi laughed. Nobody had to go, he said. They found her by themselves. And she was lucky to get out before something happened.

S
AFI LIVED BY HIMSELF
. It was a small village, and he lived the same as everyone else, except that he had a special pleasure, which was to take qoqa. He would collect all the red poppies he could find and carry them home. There he would pull off their petals and crush their two green seed pods in a cup with a stick. He would put a little of the qoqa pulp into the teapot, add tea, sugar and boiling water, and set the pot on the fire. When he took it off he would stuff fresh mint into the top of the pot. Finally he would pour himself a glass of the tea and take some snuff. But his snuff too had qoqa in it. He made a powder of the dried pods and sprinkled it in with the tobacco.

One day after he had drunk his tea and taken his snuff he was resting. From where he sat he could see his donkey in the courtyard outside, and as he looked at it he saw that it was not doing what it usually did. It rolled on the ground in a different way, and there was a little foam coming out of its mouth. Safi got up and went out to it. It was an old donkey and he knew its teeth were bad. He looked into its mouth, and then he pulled out four of its teeth.

You have a few good teeth left, he told the donkey. But it’s all right. If I have to take them out too, I’ll make you a set of false ones. You’ll still be able to chew.

Later, at the end of the day, Safi was sitting with his friends in front of the village mosque. A taleb came by, holding his hand over his face. My tooth! he was crying. Safi, being full of qoqa and still remembering the teeth he had just pulled for the donkey, said to the taleb: Come home with me. I can pull your tooth.

He took the taleb with him to his house. There he told him to sit down on the mat, and he gave him a glass of his special tea. Then he had the taleb take a few pinches of his qoqa snuff.

Soon Safi said to the taleb: Open your mouth. Where’s the tooth? Here?

He tied a cord to it. Say
Al-lah!
he told the taleb. Then he yanked out the tooth and gave him a glass of hot water with salt in it and told him to wash his mouth.

How much do I owe you? the taleb asked.

Safi was busy thinking. It’s free this time, he told him. Because you’re my first patient.

The taleb thanked him and went away. As Safi watched him go, he said to himself: And now I’m going to build myself a clinic.

On his extra land Safi began to build a shack. When it was finished he put benches along its walls. He bought three mirrors and a table to hold the pliers and knives. He filled several bottles with salted water. The room had two entrance doors side by side. On one he hung a sign which read:

DOCTOR SAFI — PEOPLE

and on the other:

DOCTOR SAFI — ANIMALS

One afternoon not much later, a man came to the clinic with his wife. She wanted two teeth taken out. Safi was very full of qoqa, and he scarcely knew what he was doing. He tied the woman’s hands behind her and bound her legs together before looking into her mouth.

Hold her head tight, he told the man. Then he took a pair of pliers in his hand. Open your mouth. Is this the tooth?

Yes! she cried.

Say
Al-lah!
And while she was saying it he pulled out the tooth. The woman began to groan. He gave her a glass of salt water. Then he reached in and pulled out the other tooth. This time she fainted and fell on the floor.

When Safi saw her lying there with blood coming from her mouth he was afraid. But he went to his room and got some soft soap to stuff into the holes he had left in her gums. When she came to she began to talk to her husband, and it was not many minutes before she had masses of foam coming out of her mouth. This frightened her husband, but Safi merely kept working. He brought in a brazier and some benzoin. With the woman sitting beside the pot of coals, he sprinkled the pieces of benzoin over the fire, and she breathed the smoke. Finally he gave her a glass of qoqa tea. Drink it while it’s hot, he told her.

Soon the woman was telling her husband that all the pain had gone away. And Safi said to himself: I’ve found the right medicine for teeth.

How much? said the man. Safi took the two teeth in his hand and looked at them for a while. The big one will be five rials and the small one two.

Another day a man came and knocked on his door. Salaam aleikoum, said the farmer. I have a cow and I think her teeth are bad.

Come in, said Safi. And bring the cow through the other door. The man led his cow into the office. Safi opened her mouth and looked in. He could not tell whether anything was the matter or not. He got a piece of bread and spread it thick with qoqa paste. After she had eaten it, he opened her mouth again and began to tap her teeth one by one with a hammer.

There’s nothing wrong with her teeth, he told the farmer. Here’s some medicine for her. She’ll feel better. He gave the farmer a mass of qoqa paste.

How much do I owe you?

A rial and a half.

The man paid and left. When he got home he gave the cow the qoqa and put her in with the other animals, but the qoqa soon got into her head. She began to kick and bellow, and she attacked the other livestock. When the farmer went out to see what was happening, she came running at him and tossed him into the air. Then she turned and pushed one horn into his thigh and began to tear open the flesh. The neighbors came running and tied the cow up.

We must take him to see Dr. Safi, said the neighbors. They carried the farmer to the clinic and Safi looked at his leg. He got a needle and some heavy thread. Lie still, he told the farmer. I’m going to sew up your leg.

He put the needle into the man’s flesh, and the man began to yell. He pulled it out, and went to get him a glass of tea. When he had drunk it, Safi brought him another glass. He tried the needle again, and the man yelled again. I’ve got to find the right medicine for things like this, Safi said to himself. He brought a handful of powdered qoqa and a third glass of the tea. Put the powder into your mouth and drink this, he told him. He waited for a quarter of an hour, and the farmer fell back asleep. Then Safi sewed up his leg. Now take him home and put him to bed.